


give and take

by delicatedays



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Bondage, Burns, Dom Kylo, Dom/sub, Dominance/submission, Dubcon Spanking, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fingering, Kylo has issues, Masturbation, Modern Setting, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Public Sex, Religious Guilt, Restraints, Sex Toys, Virgin Rey, Waxing, mentions of past trauma, noncon spanking, sexual awakening
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:34:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28470936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicatedays/pseuds/delicatedays
Summary: The man strides into the library with long, confident steps, until he’s standing just two inches away from me. The toe of one of his polished Oxford shoes nearly touches the tip of my black ballet flat. Nervously, unsure of what to do, I stare down at my shoes and his shoes and the intricate pattern on the thick rug.“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”I’m going to kill Finn.When Kylo mistakes Rey for a training submissive, out of bounds and unchaperoned at a First Order dungeon party, he gives her a spanking that awakens something in both of them.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Kylo Ren
Comments: 24
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> if I’ve missed any tags, feel free to let me know. Will include TW at beginning of chapters as needed.
> 
> I don’t claim to be an expert on kink or educating on safety within this fic!! Please do your own research before engaging in any bdsm practices and remember to be safe, sane, and consensual!!!
> 
> In this chapter: dubious consent spankings, Rey doesn’t even know what a safeword is, and kylo is entering a scene tipsy.

“You shouldn’t be in here.” 

Well, no kidding, I think, but am too nervous to say out loud. It’s the first quiet spot I could find in this entire manor where naked people aren’t draped over every available surface, doing… things. I just need a breather, a moment to gather myself and process the shock of seeing so much sex - and things I didn’t even know were sexual - happening right before my eyes. 

The man strides into the library with long, confident steps, until he’s standing just two inches away from me. The toe of one of his polished Oxford shoes nearly touches the tip of my black ballet flat. Nervously, unsure of what to do, I stare down at my shoes and his shoes and the intricate pattern on the thick rug. 

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” 

I’m going to kill Finn. 

I was only trying to be a good friend, make some extra cash on the odd weekend I wasn’t scheduled at the diner. Monday through Thursday, I shelved books, hosted story time in the kids’ section, and organized events at the Chandrila Public Library. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday I worked doubles at Maz’s, a retro-style greasy spoon a few blocks away from the apartment I shared with Finn Storm, my best friend.

Finn has a catering business, only a year old but really taking off. He had gone to culinary school, learned everything he could from the instructors and the Internet, and turned it into a profitable career. He had a good sense of taste and the ambition to try new things, and the clients he fed all seemed to adore him. When he begged me, in that frantic, about-to-cry voice around two this afternoon, to fill in for one of his servers, I agreed.

Not because I’m some workaholic, or anything. But because I’m a great friend and would do anything to make sure he succeeds. However, Finn failed to mention that this client was unique, and that the banquet and cocktail party would involve the local BDSM club.

When I pulled up to the ten-foot-tall brick wall that wrapped around the perimeter of the building, following a long train of nearly identical black town cars with windows tinted so black it was impossible to see inside, my gut twisted with unease. A beefy looking man in all black with an earpiece curled around his ear asked for my identification - I explained I was there with the caterer, but still he insisted. 

“We need to make sure everyone admitted is over twenty one,” he answered, expression blank behind dark sunglasses. Of course, that only made my anxiety skyrocket and my palms grew clammy. A valet took my keys and I prayed he wouldn’t judge the basket of soiled laundry in the backseat - I had been lugging laundry to my car in order to go to the laundromat when Finn called. 

The estate was a beautiful red brick mansion with a colonial style front porch, tall white columns stretching up to the second story where a giant window showed a glowing chandelier. I hustled around the back, not wanting to interrupt this soirée, and hardly noticed the guests in my haste. Finn hadn’t mentioned what the event was, just that Jessika Pava - a girl we both knew from high school days - had taken a spill roller skating and fractured her ankle and wouldn’t be able to fulfill her shift. 

Honestly, that was a pretty Pava-like thing to do. 

“I’m sorry,” Finn had said after squeezing me into a big bear hug of gratitude. “I wouldn’t have asked you, given the circumstances, but I’m desperate.” 

“I don’t mind,” I insisted. 

Guiltily, Finn shoved a black dress at me, saying the client insisted on us “blending into the scene,” which sounded odd. But rich people often made ridiculous demands that us peasants catered to, especially if the price was generous. The male servers wore black slacks and black fitted T-shirts, while I, the only woman that would be serving crab cakes and fried mushroom caps and bacon wrapped water chestnuts, had to squeeze into a short dress. Typical. I shimmied into the tight black dress, which hugged my butt and pushed my small breasts up nicely - glad that I had decided not to scarf down Chinese leftovers before I got Finn’s call. The kitchen smelled divine as I grabbed one of the loaded silver trays and stepped out into the fray of party goers.

What I saw nearly knocked me over.

Instead of fancy folks draped in silk and diamonds, the air smelling like expensive colognes and perfumes, I was met with nudity. A lot of nudity. I gasped and nearly dropped my tray as a man wearing some kind of metal mechanism over his manhood trailed after a beautiful blonde woman that seemed content to ignore his existence. Another younger woman with blonde pigtails was led around on a silver chain, grinning and generally oblivious to the fact that her pink-tipped breasts were just.. out there, for everyone to see.

In fact, I think she liked that they were out there. 

There was a man seated at a beautiful baby grand piano that gleamed under the glow of wall sconces. At the other end, a woman was being penetrated by another woman with a large black phallus. The walls were filled with mirrors and gilded-framed paintings, all vaguely sexual, and one couple let their hands wander as they examined each piece closely. In all this chaos of skin and sin, I clutched my tray with white knuckles and took quick, shallow breaths. 

Then I turned on my heel and stomped right back through the swinging door into the industrial sized kitchen.

Finn had taken one look at my face and threw his hands - both covered in rooster-themed oven mitts - up in innocence. “I swear, Rey, I wouldn’t have asked you if I had literally any other choice.”

“What’s the problem?” Temmin Wexley - or, as we all call him, Snap - had asked. 

“Rey is um, pretty conservative,” Finn answered delicately. My entire face was awash in a glowing red blush. I couldn’t meet either of their eyes, I was so embarrassed. “She’s not used to this kind of thing.”

“Hey, no worries Palpatine! You get used to it after a while. Just don’t stand too close, you know, like the splash zone at SeaWorld.” Snap had cackled at my terrified face, then snagged a tray with pre-filled champagne and went back out to mingle. 

“It’s ok. If you can’t do this…” Finn tried to look like he meant it, but I knew he was depending on me. I’m no fool - certainly, a catering job like this was a recurring one, and a well paying one. For discretion as well as emotional compensation. 

Despite everything screaming at me to flee, just go get in my car and take off and pretend I had never seen any of this, I knew I couldn’t let Finn down, or do anything that would damage his career. So, I grit my teeth and forced a smile and returned to the other room, moving carefully through the crowd so that I wouldn’t spill bruschetta down anyone’s naked body, keeping my eyes as averted as I could. 

The whole time, I could hear my grandfather’s voice echoing in my head. Sinners. Filthy. Wretched. Lost souls. Weaklings. His judgments were as much directed at me for simply being present as they were at the fornicators with their moans of pleasure and debauched, ecstatic faces. I realized that many of the women were wearing the exact same dress as me, but with tall shoes that some seemed to struggle with. Luckily I had my tray to set me apart. I did my job for a while, until the guests all migrated to the dining room. I hurried to the kitchen and helped push a cart into the cavernous room. Tall windows stretched up to the vaulted ceilings, letting in the waning light of a beautiful pink and purple streaked sunset. 

The long banquet table was crowded. Beside each high-backed chair was a pillow. I peeked through the door with Snap as Finn paced back and forth, wringing his hands in his apron, praying they enjoyed the lamb and raspberry sauce. I was more focused on the fact that the naked people who wore collars and leashes were serving the other people, who conversed and smiled as if it were absolutely normal to have a loose penis so close to your dinner plate. Then the naked folks kneeled while the others ate. 

It was bizarre. 

“I’m going to get some air,” I had informed Finn and Snap. They were so entranced with the nudity and worrying about the food that they hardly noticed. The rest of the crew were getting dessert ready or taking a much needed smoke break. 

Since they were otherwise occupied, I wandered the sprawling mansion and explored the open rooms. Some were sparsely decorated with odd furniture that I couldn’t begin to understand, big wooden benches with padded cushions, a strange X shaped structure on a small raised platform, a metal cage that looked like it would fit a few adult huskies… I couldn’t begin to imagine what that was all for, so I went on to the next room, which was slightly more terrifying. It was set up to look exactly like a medical exam room, complete with a sterile-paper draped table, hand washing sink, and a tray of what I chose to believe were porous of very real looking tools. 

At last, I found a room that looked relatively normal. A library. A fire crackled in a big stone fireplace, and built-in shelves held thousands of books, floor to ceiling. Leather sofas were arranged around a low coffee table, and under another tall window sat a massive mahogany desk. This was a room I could breathe in, devoid of anything remotely sexual. I crossed the hardwood floor and stared out the window, willing my frazzled nerves to be soothed by the quiet, the lack of stimulation, and the peaceful view. 

Until I was caught, that is.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” the man threatens. I let my eyes slowly climb up his legs, over the gray wool trousers and black leather belt. I gulp as I reach his broad chest and wide shoulders, wearing a black button-down under a charcoal blazer. Black hair curls over his collars, and the column of his throat is pale like porcelain. When I finally meet his gaze, I nearly stagger under the intensity burning in his dark hazel eyes. Green around the black of his iris that turns brown, a honey color. They really are remarkable - if only they weren’t so scary.

“You should be down in the dining room, serving your master,” the man says, before slugging back the remainder of his drink and plunking the glass tumbler on the corner of the desk loudly.

“I don’t have a master?” I nervously reply, hating the way I ask instead of tell. 

“Hm, a little trainee then, exploring without permission.” His full lips lift on one side, a beautiful crooked grin that makes me heart thud against my ribs. Gracefully, he shrugs out of his jacket and carelessly tosses it across the desk. Something inside of me is screaming to run, but another, louder part of me says to stay glued to the spot. It’s not just fear - because I am afraid in this moment, alone with a strange man that towers over me and smells like pine and whiskey - but it’s also a shameful excitement that confuses me and keeps my feet rooted.

“You know what that means, trainee?” One big hand lifts, and two fingers catch under my chin to lift my face up towards him. “That means anyone can punish you. And it looks like I get those honors tonight.” 

“Wait! I can explain!” I exclaim, but he just chuckles and wraps an arm around my waist. Lifting me like I weigh little more than a rag doll, he carries me to one of the low sofas and sits down, arranging my squirming form over his lap. I struggle to get words out as he gathers me against his stomach with one hand, while smoothing the other against my bottom.

“Really, trainee? You think you can talk your way out of a punishment?” I can hear amusement combined with chastisement in his warm tone. “Be a good girl now, and no more words.”

“No, I swear - it’s not what you think!” I kick my legs and try to grab onto the arm of the sofa, twisting my body to escape this moment. But a sharp stinging smack lands on my thigh that freezes me - shocks me - so that I go very still over his thighs.

“Take your punishment, trainee,” he says through grit teeth. 

I feel anxiety as he rucks up the tight skirt of my dress, I feel the cool air of the room - despite the fire - against my thighs and panties. I’m not even sure which I’m wearing, but probably an old pair with some embarrassing print on them. I hope they don’t have any holes. 

“How prudish,” the man says, fingering the elastic around one of my butt cheeks. “Which fool let you wear these? Disgraceful.” In a swift movement, I feel the elastic dig into my flesh before snapping, tearing, being ripped away. I cry out in fear and get another smack on my bottom for my trouble.

“Such poor training. Pity, you’re a lovely little thing,” he murmurs, kneading my ass in a way that makes his thumb dip down against my most intimate parts. Tears leak down my cheeks as he touches me, and as scared as I am, I begin to relax against his strong, expert hand. “That’s right. You know what’s coming, sweetheart. It’s better to accept it than to fight.”

His low voice is nearly hypnotic, and I feel my muscles going soft and pliant. This is - even though I’m paralyzed with fear, I am also kind of enjoying it. I’ve never been touched like this before. I’ve never had soft murmurs calling me pretty as gentle touches made my body come to life. It’s agony and it’s ecstasy and I am torn right in half, not knowing which sensation to latch on to.

When the next burning slap comes, it blooms heat through my bottom that shoots straight to my core. The sensation is undeniably painful, but the aftershocks are… arousing. I know there is something wrong with me, but as the next blows come, alternating cheeks and never hitting the same place twice, I find myself arching into it, leaning my hips back to meet his hand. I cry not from fear or anxiety now, but something that tastes like relief. 

“Taking it so well, trainee. Such a good little sub you’ll make, hm?” His fingers drift to the seam of my womanhood, parting my folds with a nimble finger and touching that nub at the top. My legs jerk in response, reacting to the electric thrill that zings through my body. “So responsive. Very nice,” he adds, like it’s a bonus feature on a new gadget and not my anatomy. 

He strokes and rubs at that spot and it’s all I can do to keep from clawing up the couch. I feel like I’m climbing, getting closer and closer to something as my body trembles in his lap. One hand gathers the hair at my neck, brushing it back like he wants to see my face. I’m so overwhelmed by the pleasure I’m feeling - the pleasure that is completely foreign and wholly consuming, that diminishes anything except for him and what he’s going to me, how he’s touching me - that I forget I’m not supposed to want this. I forget what this makes me, that I’m damning myself to hell for all eternity. Sins of the flesh, the weakness inside every man and woman - what I had fought so hard against my whole life…

“That’s it, sweetheart. You took your punishment so good, trainee. You may cum.” His permission is like the flip of a switch, and suddenly I am flying high. My thighs quiver and the breath is knocked from my lungs at the force of it, like rolling waves that my body clenches in time with, the explosion of lights behind my eyes more brilliant than any fireworks display. What is only moments - but feels like much longer - pass as I catch my breath. The man smoothes his hand over my butt, smearing wetness on my soft cheeks. 

“I’ll have to report this infraction to the Master,” the man drawls, shoving me off his lap and quickly rising. I scramble to straighten my dress, find the shoes that had fallen from my feet.

“I told you, I don’t have a master,” I say. My face feels dewy from the exertion of my climax, plus the blush from embarrassment over this whole situation. “I’m not a trainee. I don’t… I’m not…”

“You think he doesn’t need to know what his little play things get up to, right under his nose?” The man sneers.

I stomp my foot like a frustrated toddler. “I’m not part of this - this whole thing! I’m with the caterer!” I exclaim. “I’m just here to serve food. Not… whatever this is.”

The man’s handsome face immediately drains of all color. “You mean…”

I nod. “Yes. I am not a crazy sex fiend like the rest of you people.” I smooth a hand over my hair, praying it doesn’t look too disheveled.

“You could’ve fooled me. Took that spanking like a fucking champ,” he adds, arching an eyebrow. 

“I’ve never done anything like that. I’m not - I haven’t even … y’know.” Why am I telling him this? It must be those eyes and that smug grin. He seems very pleased.

“You’re a natural,” he tells me. 

“I should get back to the kitchen,” I mumble, as reality starts to settle in. I just let some stranger hit me and touch me. I - I had an orgasm. This day is too bizarre. I never should have stayed. 

“If you ever want to train seriously, or even just learn what this is about…” He grabs a pen and piece of paper off the desk, scribbles something down. “Feel free to get ahold of me. I would take great pleasure in breaking you.”

I couldn’t tell you why, but I took the paper. I say nothing as I turn on my heel and March out of the room. I’m hyper aware of the lack of underwear protecting my core and I can’t seem to shake my blush. I finish my shift and Finn takes pity on me, sending me home without pitching in on the clean up. I take a hot shower and dress in my softest flannel pajamas. I try to fall asleep, but I can stop my brain from thinking. Finally, I grab the note he gave me. I read the paper over and over until it’s memorized. 

  
  
  


kylo.ren@firstorder.com

see you soon xx


	2. Chapter 2

The boardroom at the First Order estate is located on the second floor, seldom used and impersonal. There is a distinct lack of windows, the modern, minimalist contemporary styling is in conflict with the rest of the mansion’s heavy antiques and gothic chic. There is a long table flanked by wheeled office chairs and an overhead projector is anchored to the ceiling above, facing a blank wall. I hate this room for various reasons, but the main thing is that it’s ugly, boring, and Snoke has strict rules that  _ nothing  _ sexual ever goes on here.

He sits at the head of the table, fingers steepled under his chin. His bald head shines under the fluorescents and his mouth turns down in a scowl. Hux, oblivious, rambles on monotonously about profit margins and new trends in our website, which is the  _ least interesting  _ thing that happens around here. I’m rarely involved in the videos produced by First Order, though I’m not vocally opposed or anything. I just think it commercializes something that is meant to be sacred, and they all know it.

Gwen Phasma toys with a strand of pearls around her neck, looking deceivingly demure in an oatmeal colored turtleneck and her platinum hair slicked back. She is half listening, eyes on Hux but glazed from boredom. Of all of us, she is the strictest dominant, known for being rigid and aloof. The subs respect her, follow her commands and rules with gratitude. The other dominants in our community respect her for the submissives she produces. Obedient, respectful, but certainly not bland pushovers. She focuses heavily on the safe, sane, consensual aspect and teaches all of them how to advocate for themselves and their sisters and brothers. Gwen is a real treasure at the First Order, starring in a series of instructional videos directed at the couples of the world looking to dabble in the BDSM playground. 

Hux is the most involved with the video production and website, so naturally he is most concerned with the optics.

Snoke is the one that trained all of us, brought us together to create the First Order. The Master of the Manor, the man with the plan. 

I sigh quietly as Hux explains the simple bar graph on the wall. As though the rest of us couldn’t possibly understand it.

Not that I could pay attention, even if I wanted.

I am, as I have been for the past three days, fixated on the woman I met at the party last weekend. 

The fact that I’ve been hands off for the past six months doesn’t help matters. It’s the first play I’ve had in what feels like an eternity, and the power I had over her in those moments rivaled even the most intense scenes I’ve been in over the years. The way her reluctance crumbled, her pale skin turned bright red by my hand. The sounds she made as her tears soaked the leg of my trousers. A pretty girl, though somewhat plain. I can’t say I would have noticed her if not for the fact that she was in one of the rooms off-limits to submissives without a master present to chaperone. 

Any old dominant could come in and intimidate a sub into play.  _ Obviously.  _

Admittedly, it’s one of Snoke’s more misogynistic rules.  _ No women in the library _ because it was where deals were brokered. Where the so-called business happened. Phasma, being the only female dom, was the exception to the rule. Finding the brunette standing there, looking lonely as she gazed out the window, had instantly thrown me into dominant mode. 

Since I had been  _ banned  _ from playing, I had been drinking. Normally, during a dungeon party, one is responsible for keeping a steady head and hand. Dominants are expected to keep things under control, though to an outsider I’m sure it would look quite the opposite. No one is encouraged to drink unless they are simply observing, to keep the safe, sane, consensual creed in mind. 

So I drank as I watched the party unfold. And then I found that lovely little thing, all alone, and stomped all over the boundaries of our club. Not only did I break the  _ no play  _ rule Snoke had put on me, I spanked one of the  _ waitresses _ \- not even one of our trainee submissives - and fingered her until she came beautifully on my hand. 

I can’t say that I regret it. The moment was exhilarating. Measuring her every response, weighing what was too little and testing how far I could push her. Looking back, it’s a little terrifying - she had no safeword, no way to end the scene without consequence. 

I punished her - for a rule she couldn’t have known she was breaking - and rewarded how well she took it without letting her argue her case. Too eager, as always, to exert my power. It’s a flaw I’m working on in therapy, which was also mandated as part of  _ my  _ discipline. A few weeks of submission under Snoke - nothing sexual, of course, but taking my lashings from his expert mastery with the whip and the Saint Andrew's Cross. Then my six months of celibacy, of abstinence from the club or any scenes. Penance for what I did to poor Hailey Hosnia. 

“Obviously, the interest in the last quarter has truly increased, as you can see in the hits and as revenue…” Hux drones on, seeming not to notice the boredom on our faces. Fortunately, Snoke seems to reach his limit and holds up a hand. Hux falls silent, abruptly snapping his jaw shut.

“Thank you, Armitage. You are always so thorough.” Snoke gives him a wan smile and Hux takes his seat, beaming under our Master’s praise like a little boy, smug. I roll my eyes, leaning back, and Phasma smirks in amusement. 

Snoke sighs then, stroking his thumb over his top lip as if smoothing an invisible mustache. One of his tells, a  _ thinking  _ gesture, which causes the three of us to sit up straighter like dogs responding to their master’s subtle movement. 

“As you know, Ren will soon end his punishment and return to our dungeons,” Snoke says, and I feel my ears go hot. Thankfully, I learned long ago to wear my hair long to cover not just their size but their easy way of revealing my feelings. My face can remain perfectly still and blank, but my damn ears can give it all away. “It is our duty to the submissives here at First Order to welcome him back confidently and graciously. I expect only the utmost respect and camaraderie between the three of you.” He levels an icy blue glare at Phasma and Hux, who do little to hold back their feelings.

Hux scoffs. Phasma looks stricken. “He  _ crippled  _ Hosnia, sir,” she says in a tone that barely contains the anger simmering in her cool azure gaze. 

“She’s not crippled,” I murmur. “She emailed me just yesterday about the progress she’s making in her DBT therapy. Soon she will be good as new.” 

Phasma pins me with her glare. “You made her have a  _ psychological break.  _ She tried to kill you  _ and  _ herself. She had to have skin grafts to fix her legs. She is certainly  _ permanently scarred  _ from being your submissive. It is incredibly irresponsible to continue contact with her.” 

“Hosnia lied on her intake forms, Gwen. She had a history of borderline personality disorder, and she didn’t disclose it,” I argue, hackles rising. Thinking of Hosnia, how I found her that morning, still haunts my dreams. I try to spend very little of my waking moments thinking about it - my unconscious tortured me enough each night. “What happened to her is  _ every _ dominant’s nightmare. A tragedy. But  _ do not  _ pretend that I bear the entire brunt of responsibility.” 

Phasma throws her hands up and gives Snoke a searching look. “He can’t even admit to what he did. How can you think it’s a good idea to set him loose in our community again?” 

Snoke arched one sparse eyebrow. “Do you presume to know what’s best for the First Order, Phasma? Do you believe your opinion should hold more weight than mine?” A challenge, if there ever was one. She could disagree with him, but Snoke would not tolerate any public displays of animosity. He was the head of this empire, and we are expected to follow his lead, to toe the line he marked. 

Her jaw works for a moment, silently, before she says, “No, Master.” But we can all see that she’s fuming, and that it’s barely contained. 

“The two of you,” Snoke says, gesturing at Hux and Gwen, “will keep an eye on Kylo. He may be a bit rusty, and some supervision will go a long way to ensuring the safety and comfort of our submissives. Kylo will also be teaching a specialized SSC dominant seminar for newcomers to the community. Might serve as a fine reminder.” Snoke smiles, benevolent, and I return it as expected.

“Thank you, Master.” It’s another, extended form of punishment, but I am willing to suffer more if it means I can return to my passion. I’m not naive - I know many will be hesitant to play with me, but just as many have been not so subtle in their show of interest. 

“We have an Exhibition coming up,” Snoke presses on. “Open to the public, at a price, of course.” His lips curl up in a sinister grin that sends shivers down my spine. As much as he’s done for me, for the three of us dominants, the community altogether - he is still a frightening figure. If there’s one thing he loves more than control and power, it’s money. “Each of you will showcase your best skill set, and visiting dominants from our sister communities will join as well. Think of it as a celebration of how far we have come, the community we have built together, and the art of dominance and submission on the whole.”

“An honor, sir,” Hux says, ever the kiss-ass. 

Phasma and I murmur our agreement. The only thing we have in common is our dislike for public displays such as these, preferring the private theater of our dungeons to the spotlight and stage. She shoots me a look from the corner of her eye that conveys her dread, and I nod slightly at my agreement. 

Soon, Snoke releases us. I return to my suite of rooms in the manor - a cozy sitting room with a massive fireplace and my bedroom and private bath. The bedroom is dominated by my massive four-poster bed, draped in black satin sheets and various restraints hanging from the dark wooden posts. There is a simple, heavy metal pillory with leather pads for shins and elbows, and a metal collar hanging open and cold, waiting for a warm throat to trap once more. 

I retrieve my phone from where it’s charging and lounge on one of the black leather sofas in front of the cold hearth. Sunlight streams through the high windows, heavy drapes hanging open. The cleaners know that I am very particular, and leave everything undisturbed after changing my bedding and dusting and cleaning the floors and bathroom. 

I scroll through my notifications - a text from my mother, inviting me to Sunday dinner as usual. I move on to my emails, which are always infinitely more interesting, and find one from an email address I’m unfamiliar with. Not uncommon - my own is listed on the First Order website, though most submissives interested in working with me are not so brave to bypass the application process to contact me. It does happen, of course. I usually read it and never reply, or - if I’m intrigued - direct them to the application and proper channels.

Grumbling, I stand and fetch my black-framed reading glasses from the coffee table that collects all of my important paperwork, then open the communication.

  
  


_ Dear Kylo Ren, _

_ Hi. It’s me, the catering waitress you spanked the other night. You told me to contact you and that’s what I’m doing. I’m not even sure why, because I’m pretty sure what you did to me must be some kind of illegal, but… _

_ I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m pretty convinced that something is wrong with me for having such impure thoughts and for even participating in whatever it was. I’ve done a bit of investigation on the internet, and I’ve found your page on the First Order website. God help me, but I even watched some of your videos because I’m honestly just a mess about the whole thing. It’s hard to believe that those women enjoy what you do to them, or that you could enjoy doing it to them… but at the same time, I find that I want to know what it’s like. I want to feel that again - I’ve never experienced anything like it, you see.  _

_ Anyway, I’m not sure what I’m trying to say - or what I’m expecting in sending you this. Am I just supremely messed up in the head? Is there something wrong with me, like is my brain wired wrong to like this stuff? Am I going to hell?  _

_ You probably don’t have any answers for this, so maybe I shouldn’t send it. Or maybe you have a good therapist you could recommend. I’m not sure. I just feel completely alone and confused and I think it’s your fault.  _

_ I’m Rey Palpatine, by the way.  _

  
  


That’s it, the whole message, and for some reason it leaves me grinning like an idiot as I reread it three times before hitting reply. 

  
  


_ Dear Rey, _

_ You are not alone.  _

_ You are not messed up.  _

_ I can’t speak on the hell aspect, as I’m not one who believes such a place exists. But I would be happy to help you work through these feelings, and show you the pleasure to be had from a small amount of pain. Perhaps we should meet for coffee sometime to discuss it.  _


	3. Chapter 3

“This is a bad idea,” Finn says, following me around our small apartment as I search for my favorite scarf. His frown deepens as I ignore him, shuffling couch pillows around and digging in the creases between cushions. I come up with fifty-three cents and drop it in the jar on one of our bookshelves, labeled “rainy day funds,” which often ends up going towards our various bills most months. I’d guess there is maybe ten bucks in there at this point. “What if he like, kidnaps you? Or sells you into sex slavery?”

“Finn, seriously?” I chuckle as I spot the edge of the gray scarf peeking out from a pile of folded towels on the beat-up recliner. I extract it, shake out the thin material, before wrapping it around my throat. It’s nearly October, the air beginning to turn chilled and crisp. Scarves and boots weather, jeans and oversized thrifted sweaters, warm apple cider and hot cocoa. My favorite time of year. 

“Look, I’m just saying. He’s one of  _ those  _ people, you can’t honestly be interested in him.” Finn folds his arms over his chest as I slide on my worn leather boots. Another Goodwill score, and with a little brown sharpie, most of the scuff spots were unnoticeable. “He  _ hits women  _ for sexual gratification, Rey.”

“I  _ am  _ aware,” I reply. I pause in front of the mirror above our tiny kitchen table, combing my fingers through my chestnut brown hair. “I can use Google, too. And from all accounts, the women get something out of the encounters, too. He has a fan base.”

“Of deranged women that like to be hit! It’s  _ insane _ !” Finn throws his hands up in frustration. “You don’t even  _ date  _ people, Rey. Like, regular people who have  _ normal  _ jobs. Plus, you don’t exactly have much experience when it comes to men, especially men whose job it is to take advantage of mentally ill women!”

I arch an eyebrow. “Are you calling me mentally ill, or insinuating that I won’t know if someone is trying to take advantage of me?”

Finn deflates a little. “I’m worried.” 

“I know,” I say, grabbing my purse from the peg near the door. “But I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

“You have your phone? It’s charged?” Finn asks, resigned to my decision. He’s only been trying to talk me out of it for days, since I agreed to Kylo Ren’s proposal to meet. I had to alter the story, of course - explaining that we had met and  _ connected  _ without going into details about what actually happened between us. That would be too humiliating, and likely Finn would drag me to the police precinct to file charges. 

He’s protective. I get it. But just because I’m innocent in some respects  _ does not  _ make me a child. 

“My phone is fully charged. You’re my emergency contact. I’ve told you where we’re going, and I will text you throughout this  _ very much not a big deal  _ coffee date so you don’t have a panic attack. Ok,  _ Mom _ ?” I grin as he grumbles, before giving him a quick hug. 

“Be careful,” Finn says, and I roll my eyes but nod. 

I’m out the door and down the stairs moments later, breathing a bit easier without his close scrutiny. Finn and I met in high school, at our old church’s youth group. It was pretty clear that neither of us were exactly  _ thrilled  _ to be there, but had no other choice. His family was very active in the sect, volunteering in the little coffee shop that did its business before Sunday service and in the afternoons. There was a daycare that put a lot of emphasis on teaching kid-friendly Bible stories, a teen youth group that opened its doors every day once school let out so that kids had a  _ safe place  _ to go and hang out without the pressures of the secular world. It was high key  _ very _ dorky and if my grandfather hadn’t been the minister, I definitely wouldn’t have come.

But once my parents passed away, leaving me in Sheev’s care, he made sure I had an unhealthy fear of the Lord and the world outside of our parish. Everything was a sin, from Nickelodeon to the color red. It’s taken many years and a million late night conversations between Finn and I to reach a point where I’m not riddled with anxiety over drinking coffee or hiding copies of forbidden texts - like Twilight and Harry Potter - under my mattress. 

It’s harder when I think of dating and sex. Finn’s parents had a healthy relationship and many siblings, and was raised believing that what happens between two loving adults in their marriage bed is healthy and normal. He has zero relationship issues beyond trust issues and being obsessed with his career - which, according to the romance novels I’ve read, is completely normal. 

Less normal is my paralyzing fear of men and sex and everything that goes with it.

“Men only want one thing,” Sheev had told me when I was eight, when my parents graves were still fresh and the pain so sharp, “and it’s what’s between your legs. Sin is a disease that the world is infected with, and the only inoculation against it is  _ God. _ ” Over the years, he drilled it into my head - sex was dirty, it was for the weak, it was only for procreation and even  _ then  _ a woman should be ashamed of her condition. So, you know, I have some  _ intimacy  _ issues. I’ve been asked out, often by the young teens that I spend time with at the library, helping them research for school projects or find the latest manga they’re into. But I’ve never been on a proper date. I’ve never been kissed. What happened with Kylo in that library was a real shock to my system that seemed to awaken something that had long been snoozing deep down under all of the fear and shame and indoctrination.

The coffee shop has big panels of glass that look out into the downtown shopping district. It was quaint looking, people bustling around with shopping bags and leashed dogs or, occasionally, children. I spot Kylo through the window, tall and well dressed with that silky black hair curling slightly. He’s chatting with the barista, who startled when I push open the door and the bells overhead jungle. Kylo turns, his strangely beautiful hazel eyes narrowing at me. The corner of his full lips lift and I try not to squirm as I approach him.

“Rey. Glad you’re here.” He glances at his watch - I know I’m early. It’s a habit leftover from childhood. But he doesn’t seem bothered. “What’s your poison?”

“I’ll just have a hot cocoa,” I say, and the barista - who lost her blushing smile as soon as I arrived - doesn't comment as she turns to fix my drink. I ignore the sensation of Kylo’s eyes taking me in, praying I’m not dressed poorly by his standards. We can’t all be millionaire bachelors living in a high-walled palace. 

Oh, Google is such a wealth of information. I learned Kylo’s birthday - he’s a Scorpio, which I put no stock into - and his height - a towering six feet, three inches - and that he’s been a trained dominant for eight years. Which means he was my age, twenty-four, when he got into this… lifestyle. He modeled for Givenchy three years ago, did a Burberry digital campaign, and has a philanthropist mother. There were tons of photos of him with stunning blondes, dazzling redheads, beautiful brunettes - all of them much more attractive and glamorous than myself. It’s hard not to feel insecure in comparison. 

“Here you are,” the barista says, plopping my paper cup on the counter none-too-gently. I politely thank her and Kylo pays, shooting me a frown when I reach for my wallet. 

“Grab a table,” he instructs, and I turn to do just that. There are a few other customers, most with laptops and headphones, one older man with a notebook at one table, scribbling furiously. I select a table near the window, away from the other customers, and sit down. My palms are clammy and I wipe them nervously on my jeans, hoping Kylo doesn’t notice how nervous I am. 

Those butterflies I have read about in so many books are a lot less exciting than I anticipated. It feels more like vultures circling, swirling in my gut and making me faintly nauseous. I’m afraid to even sip my cocoa, worried that it won’t stay down. 

Kylo folds himself into the seat across from me, which is definitely not made for a man of his size. His large hands cup around a tall cup and - because I’m nervous and have no idea where to begin or what he expects from me - I blurt out, “Is your size a hindrance or does it come in handy with your line of work?” 

He grins, amused with me, like I’m a child saying nonsense. I drop my gaze as my cheeks grow hot. This is going well.

“It’s definitely useful. Though a dominant’s power is more than his size, it’s in his or her attitude, demeanor.” He sips his drink and licks his lips, which is so gratuitous it should be illegal. “Of course, the true power is in the submissive. In giving up his or her own will, trusting the dominant, they hold all the cards. They can stop the scene at any time, with just one word.”

“A safeword,” I say softly. Yes, I had done my research. It still didn’t make much sense.

“Exactly. In a regular scene, the submissive and dominant agree on a word they can use to end the scene. There is no retribution for this - in fact, a submissive that uses the safeword is well-respected. It’s the dominant that gets in trouble if it’s use is necessary.” Kylo’s long, elegant fingers tap the tabletop and he clears his throat. “At the First Order, all trainees use the stoplight system for safewords. Green is good, yellow means slow down, and red means stop. I -  _ regret _ \- that I didn’t verbally get your consent during our scene and that you weren’t informed of the terms to play, that you might not have been… a willing participant.” He gazed at me from under his furrowed brows, looking repentant. 

I take a shaky breath. “Thanks. I appreciate that. It was my first… experience of that nature.” You could probably fry an egg on my face, it feels so hot. “But I could have knocked your lights out, and I didn’t, so I don’t think I was really  _ unwilling. _ ”

“No, by my standards - my  _ personal  _ standards, anything less than enthusiastic verbal consent is unacceptable. I’m very sorry for what I did.”

“Don't beat yourself up,” I insist. He shrugs, and we fall silent again. I take a tiny sip - the cocoa is warm and thick, creamy. “So… what is it like? Doing that, all the time?”

Kylo combs his fingers through his hair, sighing. “It’s a lot of work. It’s much more than what you saw at the dungeon party - the submissives that train with us live in the manor full time, learning the ropes.” He chuckles at his pun. “Obedience, respect, reward. Dominants that want a full time submissive trust us to teach them everything, get them prepared for strict rules and harsh demands. My job is to make sure they know what to expect, what is acceptable behavior and what isn’t.”

I’m confused. It sounds a lot like a sexy finishing school, where men come to choose which girl they like best and then  _ buy her.  _ Which seems very much like some kind of illegal trafficking scheme. My suspicion must show on my face, because Kylo goes on. 

“The process is simple. A woman that wants to be a submissive applies for one of the spots in our program. She comes to live at the First Order for a year, during which she lives in the role of submission twenty-four-seven. She takes classes on everything from safety, emotional health, nutrition - to how to take a lashing or paddling. Everyone has hard limits, and no one is forced to do anything they don’t enjoy. Some submissives specialize in certain things, just as some dominants have their favorite play scenes. After a year, we host exhibitions and galas and dungeon parties where dominants from within our community - or even our sister communities - can play and get to know each other. The dom selects a submissive he likes, and they spend more intimate time together. If both are agreeable, he pays for her training and housing fees and goes on to live under his care.” Kylo studies me the entire time he speaks, and I can feel that he’s gauging my face for the slightest reaction. I dig deep, try to keep my opinions from showing.

“That sounds very… involved.” I’m not sure what to think - explained in Kylo’s words, it seems much less sinister, but still very  _ strange.  _

“It is. The First Order takes all of this very seriously.” 

“What about someone that can’t drop everything to move in and go through training?” I ask. Because - as ashamed as I am to admit it - I  _ am  _ curious. And attracted to Kylo. He’s incredibly handsome, those dark hazel eyes and chiseled jaw and full lips are  _ not  _ helping my anxiety about all of this. I want to touch his silky curls and deeply inhale that intoxicating, musky-spicy scent coming off him. I wonder what kind of soap he uses or laundry detergent. It’s wonderful.

“We offer workshops, seminars, and video training. We even do virtual meetings, working with couples across the globe that want to spice things up.” He seems quite proud of this - I suppose it is quite an accomplishment. “BDSM - when done safely, sanely, and consensually, can be an incredible experience. Making it more mainstream and less taboo can only help as more people choose to experiment. We want to offer education that is both instructive and safe.” 

That’s actually really admirable. But doesn’t really answer my initial question. “So you can to really become a  _ professional  _ submissive without doing the year of hardcore training?” I wonder if he can guess where I’m going with this. He seems like an intelligent man, so I suppose he can.

“You can. It takes longer, is generally funded by the submissive, either with the dom she has in mind or on her own.” He steeples his fingers together under his chin, leaning towards me.

“Do you train your own submissives?” I ask. He gazes at me steadily for a long moment before shaking his head once.

“I’ve never collared my own submissive,” Kylo says, like he’s admitting a secret. Despite the fact that we’re in a very public place, it’s easy to forget it’s not just the two of us. There’s a strange, intense energy radiating off him - I can’t identify it but it’s not unpleasant. On the contrary, I find that I like it - the tension, the way my heart beats hard and steady, if not a bit faster than normal. I feel like a butterfly pinned to a board, being studied by a gentle handed scientist. 

“Why?” I ask softly, unable to tear my eyes from his gaze.

“I have yet to meet someone that could keep up. There have been a few, over the years, that came close. Collaring a submissive is not something to be taken lightly. It’s a lot of responsibility, and while it’s not  _ legally  _ binding, in our community it’s valued and respected to a higher degree than wedding vows.” Kylo traces his index finger over his lips. “Are you thinking of applying?” 

I shrug. “I can’t afford to drop my life. People are depending on me - my roommate needs me to pay my half, and if I decided after a week or a month that it wasn’t right for me, I would lose my job at the library.” Plus, I silently think, I’m not sure I want to put my life on hold to be spanked and tied up and  _ whatever  _ else goes on in that beautiful stone mansion. 

“We could always do a trial weekend. It’s not uncommon,” Kylo explains, “for a sub curious about committing to stay with a dominant willing to introduce her to the community and lifestyle. But make no mistake, Miss Johnson. It would not be a relaxing vacation.” There is a gleam in those eyes filled with the promise of pain and pleasure all wrapped up with a beautiful ribbon bow.

A weekend. Spent at the mercy of Kylo Ren, world famous dominant. My mouth goes dry and my insides clench in anticipation. “A weekend sounds more manageable.” I’m glad that my voice sounds calm, revealing none of the excitement happening below my waist. 

“We’ll get it set up. You’ll need a full physical, including a pelvic exam, blood test and STI test. We only work with subs who are in top health.” He pulls out his phone and starts typing. 

Immediately, I start to panic. “I don’t have insurance -“

“No worries. We have a contract with Doctor Tico, and the First Order will cover all costs.” Kylo doesn’t even look up as he speaks. “There will also be a mental health exam. You don’t have any history there? No history of substance abuse or addiction?”

I shake my head. Aside from mild, run of the mill anxiety that I manage with cutting back caffeine and proper sleep, I don’t have any issues. “Nope. Healthy as a horse.”

“Perfect. Doctor Tico can get you in this afternoon, if that works for you. I have engagements this weekend, but the next is wide open. Is that enough time to make arrangements?” Kylo asks, lifting his gaze from his phone to me.

I could probably get the weekend off, but would lose out on the tips. Part of me - the logical, reasonable side - demanded that I thank Kylo for his time and put him and what happened between us in the past. The other part of me aches to see where this goes, to chase down this lead to something  _ new  _ like a bloodhound scenting a kill. I am curious, and - I’m ashamed to admit -  _ aroused  _ at the idea of spending a weekend alone with Kylo. 

Kylo, a beautiful man that I barely know, with whom I have no romantic attachment. If grandfather Sheev could see me now, I’m certain he would drag me back to the dark, claustrophobic, spider infested closet under the stairs to pray for penance as he had when I was a child. 

“Yes,” I say impulsively. “It should be ok.” 

“Good. Now, for your homework,” Kylo says with a devilish grin that makes my heart stutter. “I’m going to  _ tell  _ you as well as email instructions, along with a short contract that, should you decide to join the First Order for full-time training, we can amend.” 

“Should I take notes?” I ask, already digging through my purse for a piece of paper and pen. When I glance up, Kylo is watching me with a pleased grin. He nods and I poise my pen over the scrap of envelope.

“First, I want to make sure that you’re getting enough rest. Eight hours a night, no more or less. The only exception is if you are with me.” I jot that down, thinking that I’ll have to say goodbye to binge-watching Netflix late into the night with Poe - at least until I can decide whether to pursue this or not. “Next, I want you to make sure you’re eating properly. No fast food, no carry-out unless it is a nutritious meal such as grilled chicken, lean red meat, or salad. No alcohol, no tobacco, no cannabis. Is this agreeable so far?”

“I don’t smoke or drink anyway. And I tend to eat pretty healthy,” I reply, not mentioning my love of fried chicken or greasy burgers. I could abstain for a week and a half. 

“I’m going to set up an account for you at our gym. You need to work out every day. Obviously, you’re not overweight - this isn’t for vanity’s sake, Rey. You need to build your endurance and muscles. There are yoga and Pilates classes, weight training, swimming, cardio. I don’t care what you do so long as you’re building your stamina.” Kylo gazes at me solemnly, and I believe him - I’m thin, but sturdy, and the prospect of gym time isn’t intimidating at all. In fact, I’m looking forward to it. 

“You’re not to masturbate. Not once. No orgasms that aren’t given by me, with  _ my  _ permission. Understood?” 

I nod quickly, blushing. I’ve never tried before - grandfather in his infinite wisdom had instilled the fear of touching myself from a young age, so much so that I was scared to wash properly for risking God’s wrath. He promised it would corrode my mind and spirit, that it would sully me for any future partner. He called my private parts “the devil’s playground.” I don’t think Kylo needs to know that the orgasm following my spanking had been the first of my entire life. 

“Good. I want you to text me when you wake up, when and what you’re eating, and when you go to bed. It might seem like a lot, but it will keep us connected throughout the day and shows me that you’re following the rules.” He takes the pen from my fingers, as well as the envelope, and scribbles his number at the bottom. “Let me know how your appointment goes.” 

I’m lucky that I have the afternoon free. A rare local government meeting convening in our impressive board room kept us closed to the public. There were a lot of irritated college students and soccer moms that depended on story hour for a moment of sanity sending angry emails, but there was nothing we could do. 

Kylo also writes down the information for the doctor’s office. I gather my things and we exit, standing just to the side of the front door. Unexpectedly, he offers one of his big hands to me.

“I greatly look forward to introducing you to my world,” he says, squeezing my hand tightly. Where our skin touches, mine burns pleasantly. I open my mouth to respond, but he cuts me off. “I forgot to mention - from this point forward, you call me  _ sir.  _ Whether it’s in text or you’re thanking me for another toe-curling orgasm, it’s  _ sir. _ ” 

My jaw hangs open in shock at his frank words, and he chuckles at having caught me off guard. I stammer something that sounds like, “wow, okay,  _ sir _ ,” before he releases me and turns to leave. 

“I look forward to your text, Rey,” he says, and waves over his shoulder before sliding into a waiting car and pulling away.

I stand there for a moment, wondering if I had  _ really  _ just agreed to all of this. Then I gather my thoughts and pull up Google Maps, entering in the office address. I had better get it over with. 

  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Rey**

_ Good evening, sir. I’m having a chicken breast (baked) with a side salad and a slice of French bread, buttered. Real butter, too - not sure if that makes a difference. And water to drink. _

I read the text, send her a confirmation that it sounds healthy, then return my attention to my Master. One of the training submissives is refilling his wine, and another is posing on a new style of sofa he’s thinking of buying for the big dungeon in the basement. When we host exhibitions and play parties, we use it - it’s a big, wide open space with stages and stocks, different areas for specialized interests. It fits the whole leather and chains aesthetic, setting the mood. 

Since we are such a well known and respected club, hosting gatherings frequently that people in the lifestyle travelled from great distances to partake in, companies send us props and costumes, furniture and restraints. One of our more permanent submissives, Bazine Netal, does video reviews of products too - popular videos as she often demonstrates toys and the like. We get the products for free or incredibly discounted for being attached to the First Order club. 

“This I’ve had potential,” Snoke says. I’m not sure if he’s talking about the furniture or the submissive. She’s a blonde, petite with full breasts that push against the material of her black uniform dress. Kaydel, nearly finished with her training - but still with many issues. A brat. She likes to pout and challenge a dominant, which can be fun for about five minutes. But she doesn’t back down, she doesn’t  _ submit.  _ Her challenging nature is frustrating, and I’ve wondered as I watch her progress through training what keeps her here. That perhaps she just isn’t cut out for the lifestyle.

Phasma insists she is a true dominant. She just needs a strong, consistent hand. Insinuating of course that the issue is  _ me.  _ Naturally. 

“The waterproofing is a nice touch, but that model from the other company had more attachments which would allow for more positions,” I say. I’m bored out of my mind, wondering why he’s dragged me away from more important matters - like organizing the dominant seminar I’m leading in two days - to give my opinion on  _ furniture.  _

My master must sense my agitation. “Gwen says you’ve added a submissive to the roster.” 

Ah,  _ that’s  _ what this is about. Rey. “I did. It’s a temporary basis but I think she has great potential to become an extraordinary submissive.”

“How did you find her? There was no application in the system.” It’s not accusing, his tone, but curious. Snoke is more understanding than the other dominants in the First Order. Almost like a father. More of a father than  _ mine  _ ever was. 

“She worked the party last weekend. One of the catering servers.” A mental image of her splayed over my lap, the aching in my cock as I unleashed on her flesh, the pent up frustration after months of being withheld. How red her flesh was, bright red handprints on the perky globes of her ass. “I gave her my information and she reached out, curiosity getting the best of her. She’s quite inexperienced. I thought it might be refreshing to start this new chapter with a novice.”

“Easing both of you in,” Snoke says thoughtfully. “A good plan, if she decides to join us full time.” 

“She will,” I reply confidently, flashing a grin. 

“That’s my boy. I hope you know, what happened with Hailey Hosnia wasn’t your fault. That poor girl was mentally unstable and hid it from all of us - no one could have predicted she would resort to such dramatics.” His mouth turns town, disgusted. “The problem with women - why we must keep them in the submissive role - is their emotions. Left on their own, they have the potential to destroy  _ everything.  _ They manipulate with their pretty tears and try to control things with their cunts.”

Not sure I agree with all that, but who am I to argue with a man that has given me so much? Plus, he must not feel that way about all women, considering he has Phasma as one of the directors. 

“Show her pleasure, reward her for good behavior, you’ll have her eating out of your palm and obeying your every order.” Snoke grins and pats my shoulder. “Maybe even collar her, eh? It’s long overdue.”

“I have yet to meet a submissive that can keep up with me,” I tell him, the rote excuse I’ve been using for years. It’s true - but I also am a fan of monogamy, and doing scenes with other submissives feels too much like cheating, too much like my father, for comfort. I don’t want to leave the community, the life I’ve built here. It might not be as world-saving as what my mother does, the charities that worked to improve life for the homeless populations in our community or healthcare for impoverished children - but I’m proud of the empire I’ve had a hand in building. I’m proud of our education, our standards, how we’ve worked to make the kink life more mainstream and therefore much safer. 

“You will, Kylo. Some day you’ll meet the right sub. Perhaps we could make it a video series in the style of that Bachelor show that Bazine loves so much.” He chuckles, and unease twists in my gut. Sometimes he says things just to say them - and sometimes to gauge one’s reaction. 

“Nah, I’m not good looking enough for that. Ask Dameron.” Snoke laughs heartily at that - Poe Dameron is the big male porn star specializing in dramatic domination scenes. Really brutal stuff, actually - taking it further than what I find to be comfortable. I do like the glazed look a submissive gets when they’re in the zone, consumed by pleasure and the desperate need to please - but he takes submissives  _ past  _ that point. It’s very extreme, and messy, which I am not so fond of. 

Clean up after a scene should not involve biohazard suits. In my humble opinion, of course. 

My phone alerted another incoming message, and I looked to Snoke before answering. “I think I can pick a few sofas, Kylo. You aee tree dismissed.”

I nod my thanks and rise, watching Kaydel pose spread eagle as another submissive clamps a cuff around one of her ankles. In the hallway, the lights seem brighter and I can hear music coming from below - something loud, industrial. Gwen must be down there working out her issues on a happy submissive. 

I pull my phone out and see that I have another new message from Rey, wondering if she can ask me a question - if I’m not busy, of course. I smile and tell her to go ahead, then climb the wide stone stairway to the second floor. My rooms are at the end of a long hall, which is the plain, sparse rooms where the trainees live. Bazine is like their house mother, the top sub, who takes care of their day to day needs and referees squabbles. Her room is next to my suite, and as I pass by her door swings open.

Standing in a silk robe and nothing else, she gazes at me with charcoal lined eyes and a simpering smile. “Sir,” she greets, bowing her head respectfully. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

“Yes, Baz?”

“I heard your punishment is over,” she says, cutting straight to the point. “And I wanted you to know that if you needed a sub to play with, get back into the saddle… well, my door is always open.  _ Sir. _ ” Bazine bats her long eyelashes and smiles prettily. In another lifetime, years ago, I would have eagerly jumped at the chance. Now, I know all too well what Bazine is playing at - she wants me to fuck her. She wants me to collar her. She’s spent a few years being everyone’s pet and she’s looking for a permanent master.

“That’s very kind, Bazine. I’ll take it into consideration.” I give her a tight smile and nod before continuing into the privacy of my own room, and collapse with a sigh into an armchair facing the sofa. 

  
  


**Rey**

_ It’s come to my attention that some men have grooming preferences for below the belt and I was wondering if you might want me to do something specific?  _

  
  


I smirk, thinking of Rey agonizing over what I might want. Rather than text back, I decided to call. To hear the anxiety in her voice, the embarrassment - it’s sweet. I will  _ so  _ enjoy pushing her past old limits into new, freer territory.

Not surprisingly, she answers on the first ring with a breathless, “Hello, sir.” Points to her for remembering how to address me on day two. 

“Good evening, Rey.” I listen to the sound of rushing water in the background, her quick breathing. She must be nervous, I must have caught her preparing a bath. Perfect. “I saw your text and wanted to discuss it.”

“Oh, right. Yes, of course, sir.” 

“Tell me what you’re doing right now,” I command, and she lets out a little laugh that sounds so charming and light. 

“About to get in the bath, sir.” There’s a quiet splash, and she sighs in contentment. I can imagine the water beading her small bust as she reclines against the tub. “My roommate has a gig tonight, catering some fancy corporate party, so I thought I would take a relaxing bath before going to bed early.”

“Good girl.” I grin at her sharp inhale at the praise. “I’m happy to hear you’re taking my rules so seriously.”

“I don’t do things halfway, sir.” I can see that. There’s something stubborn beneath her cheerful exterior, something that I noticed at both of our encounters. Rey is complex, with layers that I’m eager to peel back. 

“To answer your question, I would say that I prefer neatly trimmed or waxed. Landing strip, Brazilian, I’m not particular of that. So long as it is maintained.” I wonder what her pubic hair is like - all natural is my guess. I was too far gone to really pay attention during her spanking and subsequent orgasm. I don’t care much one way or the other, but it’s a small flex of control over her that is relatively harmless. 

“Okay. Thank you for the information, sir.” She sounds a bit unsure, as she tends to when it comes to more  _ intimate  _ discussions. Definitely inexperienced - maybe one long-time boyfriend, a high school sweetheart, who couldn’t please her but someone that she loved regardless, someone whose two pumps she suffered through for the sake of staying together. Likely devastated when things ended. 

“Are you wet, Rey?” I ask, letting my voice drop to a seductive purr that I know women like.

“Well, I’m in the bathtub, sir,” she giggles, and I smirk.

“I meant your pussy, darling. Is your pussy wet? Are you… aroused?” I listen to her breathing quicken and can picture the blush creeping up her cheeks.

“Uh - um, I’m not sure. I didn’t think I was supposed to…” She trails off, leaving me delighted. 

“I give you permission, Rey. Go ahead and touch yourself.” I lean back, loosening the top buttons of my black shirt with one practiced hand, relaxing into my seat. I  _ should  _ reward her, for being so dedicated so quickly. Plus, it’s been  _ so long _ since I’ve done anything like this. A mixture of nostalgia and excitement churns low in my stomach as blood rushes south, thinking of her shyly touching her sweet little cunt. Makes me wish I had done more than just rub her clit that first night.

“Oh… okay…” Uncertainty colors voice and water laps softly with her movement. I listen as she breathes unevenly - probably unaware of how well I can hear everything. I palm my stiffening dick through my slacks impatiently. 

“How does it feel?” I ask.

“Honestly? Kind of ticklish. Sir,” she adds, remembering herself. 

I frown. Ticklish is certainly not what I was expecting  _ or  _ hoping for. Perhaps she’s never had phone sex before. “Why don’t you touch that little clit for me, sweetheart.”

“My  _ what _ ?!” she exclaims.

I pause, taking in a deep breath. Oh, this poor woman. Poor, sweet, innocent Rey. Anger flares inside of me at the absolute neglect of her sexual education, at her former partners. I must correct this immediately. “Spread your legs as wide as you can, lovely. I’m going to give you an anatomy lesson.”

She inhales, and water sloshes. “Ok, sir,” Rey says in a shaky little voice. 

“Reach between your legs. The exterior is called the vulva - yours is divine. Trace your fingers over them, feel how soft they are.” I picture my large hands spreading her little peach open, letting my eyes travel over every pink inch of her. “At the bottom is your vagina. In the middle, your urethra. At the top, there’s a little nub called the clitoris.”

She doesn’t speak, but her breath comes out in short pants that tell me many things. She’s nervous. She’s excited, curious. I give her some time to feel everything, the different textures. It amazes me that women can go for so long without exploring their own bodies, but I suppose it’s not necessarily  _ expected  _ like it is for males.

“Oh,” Rey says in surprise. She must have found her clit. I grin as my cock twitches at the breathy sound. 

“I want you to rub circles against your clitoris. Slowly, ok, sweetheart? Just soft little circles. Tell me what you feel.” I bite my lip as she exhales slowly. I wonder what her nipples look like, tightened and aching to be suckled and nibbled. 

“Ok. It feels - nice. Good,” she says, like it’s a decision she’s making. “Can I go faster, sir?”

My eyes flutter shut and my breath catches. She’s trying so hard to please me. “Go ahead, Rey. This is all about you, discovering what you like. It’s your first time masturbsting, isn’t it?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” she hisses, and I can’t be sure if it’s embarrassment or a nice new sensation she’s found. She makes a hiccup noise and the water sloshes louder against her tub and body. Her breathing licks up - fast and shallow. I sense that this is a long time coming, the build up of denied desire, an impending explosion. I sense that Rey  _ needs  _ this, desperately, and that I’m very privileged to hear it. 

“You’re being a very good girl,” I tell her, unfastening my belt and slacks. My cock is leaking against my briefs, and I quickly pull it out. I want to cum with her. My skin is sensitive from lack of use and my dick practically jumps against my fist when I squeeze it. She whines softly, and I shut my eyes as I begin to fuck my hand. “It feels good, doesn’t it? I bet it tastes good, too.”

“Oh - okay,” Rey murmurs, and I stifle a chuckle that I’m sure would pull her out of the moment. I’m not  _ laughing  _ at her - she’s just very sweet. 

“Would you like my tongue doing to you what your fingers are?” I ask. 

“If that’s what you want, sir?” Rey answers. She has no idea how hard that makes me, how my blood rushes hog through my veins. I think this is what attracts me to her - yes, she’s physically pretty, with a phenomenal ass, but she’s also genuine. It’s not an act, she isn’t saying what she thinks I want to hear. I groan softly against my phone as pleasure slides down my spine, pooling in my pelvis. 

“You’re making me so hard, lovely. I’m touching myself too.” I grin as she gasps, caught by surprise. “I want you to put a finger inside, Rey. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes,” she says. There’s a shuffling sound, she’s probably putting her phone in a more hands free space. I listen as she makes a soft little keening noise. “It’s so hot, like I have a fever. And it’s - tight?”

_ Jesus.  _ I’m so close already. If it’s tight around her dainty finger, it’s going to take a bit of work to get her stretched enough to take me. Work that I eagerly look forward to. I decide not to mention that, saving it for another time. Go easy - I’m trying. I want to tell her all the sinful ways I can make her cum, all the slow, torturous things I’m thinking about. Trying her to the bed and fucking her seems so simple, compared to the thousands of different ways I could take her, but it tops the list right now.

“Keep going. I want to hear you,” I add. “You’re alone, don’t hold back.”

“Ok. Ok, sir.” I try to slow down - I might lose at my own game if I don’t. Her moans are soft and quiet and shy, the sweetest fucking sounds I’ve ever heard. 

“I bet you look lovely right now. Fingers buried in your cunt. Is the water getting cool? Are your nipples hard? I would suck them if I were there, leave bruises all over your pretty little tits.” She moans louder with my words. 

“Would - would you spank me again?” Rey asks breathlessly. 

My eyebrow quirks and my heart  _ pounds _ . “Only if you’ve been a bad girl, sweetheart.” 

Her voices rises, and water splashes. Fuck, I’m right on the edge. She whispers and pants and I hear her breathing cut off, holding it just before - I can’t help it, I think of the way her cunt will clamp down and her gorgeous moans and her blushing face wrecked with pleasure - 

I’m cumming, my breath harsh and too loud in the quiet room. I hear her shriek as I try to catch my spend in one hand, phone crooked between my shoulder and ear, still pumping away with the other. Rey shrieks, a startled noise. I hear her whine the word  _ no _ and abruptly, the line goes dead. Silent. 

Frowning, I drop the phone and stride to the bathroom to wash my hands. Did she have a change of heart? A bad reaction? I don’t know what to make of it, and once my hands are clean and dry, I tuck my softening dick back into my pants and dial her again.

It goes straight to voicemail. Gnashing my teeth together in frustration, I put in another call to one of the staff drivers. “Prepare my car,” I growl, grabbing a jacket and storming out the door. 


End file.
